Denny scowled into the small driving mirror. “They’re making a hell of a fuss about a storm,” he said. “It’s got to be mighty bad to stop me.”
Gerda leant forward. “You’re a stranger to Florida, ain’t you?” she asked.
“Yeah, what makes you ask?”
“It sticks out a yard. Folks who live around this district take these hurricanes seriously.”
Denny was bored with this talk about hurricanes. The sun was still very hot and strong and there was only a mild breeze coming from the coast. There was not a sign of a rain cloud anywhere. He glanced down at Stella, who sat away from him in the corner of the seat. From that angle he could see her firm beautiful curves and he wished that Gerda wasn’t with them. He said, “You don’t worry about hurricanes, do you?”
Stella glanced at him and shook her head. “I guess not,” she said. “I’ve seen a good few, and they don’t really amount to anything.”
Denny liked her voice. “What are you two girls, anyway?” he asked. “What’s the idea of hitch-hiking?”
Gerda took charge of the conversation. “We’re looking for a job,” she said, almost in his ear. Her voice was low and flat. “Daytona Beach bored us, so we thought we’d go on to Miami. I guess we’ll find something there.”
Denny turned into the old Dixey Highway that led to Port Orange. He trod on the gas, sending the Lincoln forward with a sudden push. “Well, what do you do?” he wanted to know, looking with interest at Stella’s nicely rounded knees.
“Who we can,” Gerda said, with a harsh little laugh. “Don’t we, Stella?”